CITY OF BRIDGES

12

Wyverns Beware

The lanky rider climbed from the strange saddle. He was heavily bearded, with long, fair hair pulled into a ponytail which draped down his back to his belt. His clothing comprised leather trousers, a tunic with sheepskin lining and gloves reaching to his elbows. In his knee-high boots, Feiron judged him to be a little taller than Leonie, and the mask covering his eyes gave him a bug-like look.

“Hello there.” His mild Tesakian accent finishing on a high note. He was about to jump down from the rock when the wyvern made a sound, more like a bark, or a cough. “Oops, nearly forgot.” He turned and gave the beast a good scratch in the centre of its long snout between the amber eyes.

The air vibrated; the wyvern purred.

“She loves this,” the rider said over his shoulder. After a few moments of scratching, he turned and lightly jumped to the ground, approaching with long, easy strides.

“Sorry if we alarmed you.”

“Is it safe?” Feiron fought the urge to run and hide.

“Oh yes, as long as you mean no harm. Rare as these occasions are, there’s a standing agreement not to eat my visitors. It gives them a bad name if they do.”

“Well met. I gather you’re the trainer of wyverns?” Feiron asked.

He flashed a smile. “I am Philbert.” He bowed deeply then shook hands, only then realising he still wore his goggles. “Sorry. I forget I have them on sometimes.” Removing them showed startling green eyes. “I’m so glad I finally get to speak to a traveller. They don’t stay long—”

He was cut off by a soft hiss.

“All right, alright. May I also introduce Dorn, last daughter of Axorg, first chosen of Noldor, and my wing commander.” He turned, flamboyantly waving an arm in the wyvern’s direction.

“You name it?”

Again, the wyvern inclined her head. She winked.

Unsure how to respond, Feiron gave a quick wave. “While meeting with you is very exciting, I’m afraid my companion here is in dire need of your help.” Feiron indicated Leonie in the coracle.

“Your companion? She is injured?” The rider sounded sincere, noticing the cuts and gashes. “That is sad news. I’m limited in any aid, but will gladly help if I can. Dorn, what can you sense?”

The wyvern turned her gaze towards the prone figure in the coracle. While she has severe physical injuries, I am more concerned with her mental state. Her mind is intact but unreachable. I cannot sense anything from the illios.

Philbert looked around. “How did you come to be here, considering the state of your friend, and no mounts to be seen?”

“I can understand your confusion, but can easily explain – however implausible the tale may sound to you.” Feiron had been wondering how much to reveal about their latest incident and was at a loss. “Umm… a wyvern moved us here.”

“What’s that you say?” Phil’s head snapped up in surprise. “Dorn. Listen.”

I hear. The wyvern responded at once. Her massive head swung around; amber eyes drilled into Feiron.

“Normally we can detect other wyverns in the area,” Phil continued.

“I’m no expert, but I don’t believe this was your typical wyvern. He was an elemental, to be precise,” Feiron added.

“This is truly fascinating. Did this wyvern elemental have a name?”

“Not that he shared, no.”

“Can you describe him?”

Feiron glanced at Dorn. “Massive, about three times Dorn’s size. Black – when he wasn’t invisible. He also had amber eyes. Does he sound familiar?”

Axorg, Dorn replied in surprise.

“Axorg? Can this be?” Phil shook his head in wonder.

It is rare, Dorn responded. It is said that those of great age and with certain qualities can attain transcendence.

That would be him. Phil nodded. Axorg is now immortal?

Feiron watched Philbert. “I gather you’re using mind-speak?”

“What? Oh, yes. You cannot hear us? My apologies for the oversight.”

Feiron sighed. “Axorg wrote in the sand with a stick.”

“This is an extraordinary tale.” Phil looked from Feiron to the prone figure in the coracle. “I didn’t consider teaching the wyverns to write,” he muttered.

Why would Axorg have any interest in our affairs? Dorn asked. Transcendents are no longer of this plane.

Phil repeated the question for Feiron’s benefit.

“I cannot explain his motives,” the illios replied. “He said he was keeping a watch on the happenings on the ‘astral plane’. It also appears prophecy may play a part. Have you heard of the Temple of Opsyss?”

“Vaguely. If I remember correctly, they tried to start a sect in Tesak. The Tesak’i would have none of it.”

“So, you know what they do?”

“Not really. A cult that worships the dark arts, I guess? Did Axorg show the help he thought we could provide?”

“The head cleric possessed my colleague, Leonie, apparently using mind control.”

She needs to be shielded from further violation? Dorn prompted.

Feiron nodded after Phil repeated the question aloud. “I believe so. Leonie has been like this for over a day now. Her body has been sorely abused. Perhaps her mind too.”

A chilly gust of wind swirled around the clearing; the looming clouds indicated rain.

“I think we should move. We will take you both to the lair so we are out of the elements, and talk in comfort.”

“Will you be able to transport us in the coracle? Axorg used telekinesis.”

“I see. Dorn?”

Of course.

They doused the fires and Feiron once again slipped into the coracle. This trip was much shorter and wasn’t long before other inquisitive wyverns gathered to see the newcomers. The spectacle entranced Feiron; creatures so large, yet so agile. They ducked and weaved, swiftly circling around them until a loud growl emanated from Dorn. In seconds, they dispersed, back to the smoke cloud looming high above.

As the coracle with the strangers bobbed closer to the volcano, the shadowy area of a deep crevice became more defined. Soon, a cave entrance became visible, appearing too small for such large creatures as the wyverns. But, as they neared, the true size became clear. The edifice containing the volcano was massive; its real dimensions obscured by the mountainous terrain surrounding it.

“The locals call it Hell’s Maw,” Philbert called down over the wind. “We call it home.”

Dorn landed on the ledge and Phil leapt off with practised grace. The coracle bobbed in through the entrance, gliding silently passed the rough walls and gently settled inside. The long and narrow path curved into a huge, irregular shaped cave. Dark sand and small rocks covered the floor. Multicoloured scales, piled to the side of the floor by the passing of wyverns over the years, contrasted with the dark rock.

Phil strode in behind him, followed by Dorn. “We don’t normally get visitors here, but I’m sure it won’t take long to organise a place to rest.”

“I’m sure Leonie will be happy with whatever you can provide. I only require a barrel or container of some description to sleep.”

“I find these are very handy – for beds and storage.” Phil removed pots and jars from a cavity within the wall. “They were bubbles formed in the magma decades ago. They’re all over the place and many sizes. Sleeping on the floor can be a hazard if a wyvern steps on you.”

After locating a couple of fur blankets, Phil placed within the niche. Together, Phil and Feiron lifted Leonie into place.

“Very handy.” Feiron noted the smooth walls of the niche as he fussed over Leonie, bunching the blanket on the edge and ensuring she wouldn’t roll out. At no stage did she moan or move – other than her breathing; she was as limp as jelly. He reached into his backpack, opened the jar of miwalli and generously applied it to all her cuts and abrasions. “She normally heals very well, but I’m sure this won’t hurt.”

Leaving Leonie to rest, Philbert showed Feiron around the lair. It was a brief tour. The trainer slept towards the rear of the cave, in a niche similar to that of Leonie. One area of the cave was a bit wider, and there was a fire pit with cooking utensils stored nearby in the myriad of smooth, irregularly shaped alcoves.

As they settled by the fire, Feiron spoke. “First, I’d like to thank you for taking us in under such extraordinary circumstances.” He had considered what to tell, or not tell, his host, finally deciding – as always – the truth was best.

Axorg saw reason to assist. To honour him, so shall we. Dorn answered before Philbert could.

He repeated her response aloud to the illios.

Feiron gazed upwards, considering what to say. Sloping walls, with ridges and ledges on all sides, obscured the ceiling. Light filtered from above, indicating a hidden opening. It was along these rocky outcrops the wyverns rested. Through the rising smoke of the fire, dozens of large eyes returned his gaze. Dorn was the closest being one of the eldest and largest, while the younger, smaller wyverns rested higher up.

“We were heading to Qelay,” Feiron started. “Leonie has a task, to deliver an important book to the hroltahgs there.” He then went on into detail about recent events. “The Seer’s Codex contains prophecies, or foretellings if you prefer, that may – or may not – come to pass.” Feiron quickly retrieved the codex from the coracle, placing it in Philbert’s hands.

The rider almost dropped it. “It’s heavy. If what you say is true, the knowledge contained within could gain a person some unique insights.” Phil examined the book as he spoke. “Knowing the future would give power over others.”

“Precisely. We know several people have already died in attempts to obtain it. Knowing of this book’s existence could put you in great danger.”

“My dear chap, I’m surrounded by a cloud of protective and inquisitive wyverns. No one and nothing could get close enough to cause us any harm.”

“Except an elemental…”

“True, but transcendents are another matter entirely, and as you can imagine – an extremely rare event.” Phil nodded, pealing through the pages. “I’m unfamiliar with some languages and can only make out a few entries.” After a few moments, he stopped. “We are being remiss. This is not assisting your friend. I’ll request Dorn to see what she can do.”

I am not a healer.

“No, but you trained your younglings.”

This is not the same.

“Can’t you try? Axorg thought we could do something.”

I shall see what I can do.

“Thank you.” He turned to Feiron, who was glancing between Philbert and Dorn, on a ledge above them. “Dorn will gladly help.”

“We are both in your debt.”

“Nonsense. I’ll hear nothing of it. It’s the least we can do.” Phil smiled.

For you, perhaps, Dorn quipped.

Leonie’s physical condition improved, but with Dorn contacting her subconscious mind, the regular updates via Philbert also indicated progress. On the third day, she woke. Looking around blearily, taking in her unusual surroundings, before attempting to sit up.

Feiron, situated by the lair entrance, watched the wyverns flittering in and out of the misty lake below. He turned at a noise and flowed to Leonie’s side.

Leonie coughed. She rolled over and leant on an elbow.

“Thank goodness you’re awake.” He wrapped himself around her.

“Not getting soft on me?” she croaked.

“I was born soft.” Feiron was as himself, a grey translucent blob, though still distended.

“Never mind.” She looked around blearily, staring at the smoky bonfire nearby.

“How are you feeling?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Terrible. I can hardly move and I ache all over. I’m as weak as a kitten, and my head’s throbbing and I’m starving. To top it all off, my fur’s a mess.” She braced herself on the ledge, getting her bearings. “Other than a bit stiff, I’m sure I’ll be fine soon enough.” Leonie grimaced.

Feiron insisted on checking her injuries. Apart from her previous injuries, Leonie now sported a deep gash above the temple, several nasty lacerations to her arms and legs, and a singed paw. Miraculously, none of them appeared infected, and all were in the final stages of repair.

“It seems not a day can go past without you getting some injury.”

Leonie shrugged. “May as well do what I’m good at.” With his assistance but against his advice, she carefully stood up. “I feel like I’m a hundred.” Hissing and wincing with her every move, she limped around to get some movement back in her joints, cursing under her breath.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Seems like a bad dream. Someone – Lothas – took over my body, then something looking like a blue light tried to help. Lothas also had help … then I was drowning.” She stumbled to the chair. “It’s all a blur and my head aches at the thought of it.

He brought a cup of water and started to fill her in on all the details during her coma.

“No need.” She sipped the water. “Dorn has filled me in on everything.”

“She has?”

“Yep.”

“So, you know where we are?”

“Hells Maw.” Leonie nodded. “It was a shock at first. I thought I was dreaming. Dorn showed me some images through her eyes.”

“She can do that?”

“And I can’t wait to learn to fly.”

“Learn to— What?”

“Fly. You can too.” Her grin reached pointy ear to pointy ear. “Maybe after you stop spinning.”

A shadow in the entrance cut off his reply.

Welcome back to the land of the living, Dorn said.

“Ah. I am very glad to see you awake, Leonie.”

“Hello, Philbert. Dorn has been telling me all about you—”

“Don’t listen to gossip.” He glanced to his wyvern.

“Thank you too, for your generous assistance,” she said.

“It’s a pleasure to help, and so good to meet you.” Phil beamed at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “But it’s Dorn and her wyverns who can take all the credit. I just do the cooking.”

“Speaking of cooking. I’m famished.”

“I’ll get something started.” Phil offered.

“In the meantime, how about some tea?” Feiron suggested.

“Lovely,” Leonie called over her shoulder as she limped to the cave entrance. Dorn perched on the edge.

Leonie took a deep breath at the sight of her. She estimated Dorn to be an impressive twenty paces long from snout to barbed tail, covered in cobalt blue scales. The widest areas were the shoulders, twice as thick as a di’anth. With ridges over her deep-set eyes, the head was like a serpent’s, but longer. There were many tendrils, resembling thick whiskers, hanging from the snout and lower jaw.

Two dots detached themselves from those circling the volcano mouth. They approached swiftly.

Feiron joined her with a steaming mug. “Who would’ve thought it would lead to this?”

“Not us. Back in Delta, we were more concerned with avoiding them for fear of becoming a snack.”

Squinting in the afternoon sunshine, they watched the two silhouettes spiralling down to them, averted their gaze to avoid the grit picked up by the wing-beats as the wyverns landed. When they looked back, two young wyverns stood each side of their mother. They were both mostly green, with a slightly lighter shade underneath.

“Dear friends, allow me to introduce Slana and Faldo. Dorn’s twins,” Phil spoke from the lair entrance.

The two new wyverns hissed softly in greeting.

“Truly, you are all a sight to behold,” Leonie praised.

I like the furry one, Slana said.

Moving closer, Leonie reached out to touch the closest one. The green scales were warm, smooth, and hard, but not as hard as she would have first thought.

“Later, when fully recovered and prepared, we can try some real flying,” Philbert offered.

“I can’t wait.”

Feiron looked dubious.

“In the meantime, enjoy the view. Dinner will still be awhile. A Tesakian staple diet. I hope you like mushrooms.” Phil turned and stepped inside.

Dorn and her twins dropped off the ledge and soon joined the others.

Like Feiron had done over the last days, Leonie sat on the edge sipping her tea and watching the terrain below. The lair’s entrance was about two-thirds of the way up the eastern face of Hell’s Maw. The cliff was vertical down to the steaming lake. She wondered how Phil got up the first time. He didn’t look like a mountain climber.

Noldor flew him. Slana answered her thought. He was mother’s mate.

Leonie considered this as she watched the wyverns circle above.

“How are you really feeling?” Feiron asked.

“Seriously, I’m alright, just exhausted. Dorn tells me you were quite concerned.”

“Of course. I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

“Speaking of which – you’ve put on weight.”

“In a manner of speaking.” The shading of his skin changed.

“Eating my share of the food?”

“Water retention.”

“Are you blushing?” she watched curiously.

“It’s nearly all gone now.” Feiron’s shading changed even more. “I spent far more time in the water – searching for you – than prudent.”

Her smiling face turned serious. “I’m sorry for all I put you through—”

“Nonsense. It is Lothas who bears the blame for this.”

“Don’t worry. I will pay him a visit when we get back.” She turned her gaze to the southern horizon. “He won’t be doing that again.”

“To you?”

“To anyone. I’m going to promote him from high priest to his god’s right hand.”

* * *